


Holiday Tradition

by hurinhouse



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 06:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13048707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurinhouse/pseuds/hurinhouse
Summary: When Neal gets hurt helping Mozzie out of a jam, Peter and his team come to the rescue.





	Holiday Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: For the H/C Advent 2017 at [whitecollarhc](https://whitecollarhc.dreamwidth.org/)  
> Notes: I had something completely different planned for this but when I saw kanarak13's beautiful HC Advent art [kanarek13's art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13032729) I rearranged this last minute to make it fit that piece. So now we'll just call it a subpar quintessential clichéd Neal-hurt-at-Christmas fic just like a million before them. :)

"The mouse is caged - Find the zookeeper!"

Neal looks around the bullpen, while turning the volume down on his cell's earpiece.

"Sorry, Moz, I don't remember this one. Are you okay?"

"No names, Neal!"

"My mistake. Hold on." It's almost five and it's three days before Christmas. No one's paying any attention to Neal or anything else but getting their own work done so they can get out of here for the night, some for the weekend. But chances are Mozzie's talking something illegal so he heads down the hall toward the restroom.

"Go ahead."

"You remember that science program I've been helping Paula with?"

"Paula... the teacher you're hoping to get to know better?"

"Don't be crude, Neal."

"Uh... my apologies? So, the after school science program for disabled kids. They're trying to get more equipment for their lab after the break-in, right?"

"The vandals ruined most of it. Running a fund-raiser so close to Christmas won't work but there was a company that came to _her_ , offering most of what she needed at a discounted price to help her out."

" _Maybe_ looking for a last minute write-off. But more likely, someone to scam. They probably have enough equipment to look legit but Paula's students won't see even a microscope." Neal makes it to the restroom without having to talk to anyone.

" Exactly. I was supposed to meet with the representative today to check what they had to offer. It's an old abandoned grain factory. I arrived early to watch them come in from up in the rafters, of course."

"Your dedication to self-security is inspiring, Moz, but an abandoned factory for a legitimate meeting?"

"That was my idea. Discretion First. Anyway, It's Anton Lowery."

"The fence who ratted you out a few years ago?"

"My job selling rooftop doggie gardens to the apathetic elite of Carnegie Hill. He told one of my clients I was scamming them- "

 _Ahhh_ "And made himself look altruistic... "

"So that they would trust him with their social security info."

"Then he scammed them instead. Clever." 

"Uh... I lost several weeks of my time and a lot of health on that job, Neal."

 _The people in Carnegie Hill lost more than that._ Neal's been working for Peter too long. "Health?"

"Allergies. Not all of those high-end dogs are hairless. People just like to show off the $7,000 they spent at a top breeder. That's more important to them than the dog itself."

"While thousands of dogs die waiting for a home in shelters." A subject that annoys Neal to no end. He flushes just to make his long absence more realistic if anyone's listening.

"Exactly. Anyway, I got even with an anonymous call to the feds. If I go in there, Lowery will recognize me and tell Paula that I'm a con."

"You are a con, Moz." The soap dispenser is almost empty but he squeezes out what he can in case anyone walks in.

"But, I'm not conning _her_ , Neal. I'm trying to help her and all those little kids in wheelchairs and Coke bottle glasses."

"I know, Moz. Calm down. Just skip the meeting."

"If I do that, she'll think I'm a loser and never want to see me again. Plus she'll talk to him herself and get scammed anyway."

"Right."

"But you could go in. He hasn't seen my face so doesn't know what Mr. Sanderson looks like. I can keep watch in the rafters."

"Hmmm... classic fraud. If I can bring him some details, Peter's more likely to make it a case and run a sting on Lowery."

"Does everything have to come back to the Suit?"

"If you want my help, it does. Problem is, Peter's in year-end budget meetings the rest of the day."

"Its' amazing how much G-men enjoy talking bureaucracy."

"You'd be surprised how many supplies each department loses if they don't show up." Neal steps out and looks down the hall... empty. Of course it is. Everyone but Neal has Christmas plans. "Okay, I'll cut out early. Where are you?"

~~~

"Good afternoon, Gentlemen." Neal offers his most cheerful 'trust me' smile to Lowery. A handful of cheap science equipment sits on the concrete floor. Neal doesn't give them marks for aesthetic display.

"You're late."

Neal waves it off, layering an apology onto his face. "Sorry about that. Got stuck in traffic, you know how it is this time of y- "

"And you're not Mr. Sanderson."

~~~

"Berrigan."

"Lady Suit."

Ugh. It's been a while since she's had to deal with Neal's sidekick but she does not need to get pulled into one of his schemes three days before Christmas.

"What do you want, Mozzie?"

"The Suit's in a meeting."

"How do you know that and... So?"

"I need someone to get him out of it so I can talk to him."

"I'm not interrupting his meeting for one of your conspiracy theories."

"Neal's continued existence is a little more urgent than how many staples you put on your performance reviews!"

Diana swivels her chair toward Jones, pulling his attention her way. "Neal's in trouble? Is that why he left early? One of your cons?"

"No con of mine - we're just trying to help some disabled kids."

"Sure you are." Jones watches her, waiting for a sign.....

"But the good Samaritan that offered to help just tied Neal to a chair. He has a knife!"

.... And she gives it to him - a nod is all it takes before Jones sprints toward the conference room to collect Peter.

"Give me all the info right now, Mozzie. Don't leave anything out to save your ass."

"As if."

~~~

Not only did Lowery already know Moz is Mr. Sanderson, but his M.O. has escalated from ratting out another con to roughing one up. Apparently Mozzie's call to the feds all those years ago landed Lowery in prison for two years. Sweet-talking doesn't work on him, so Neal's keeping his mouth shut while he works on the ropes, hoping Moz is getting help.

Lowery's been peppering Neal with punches in between the one-sided conversation while his co-conspirator in the gray jacket watches. The building is freezing and Neal's getting a headache from so many knocks to his head and chest and stomach. The glint off of the knife in Lowery's belt keeps flashing brightly across Neal's eyes every time the guy turns around to take a break. 

"So Moz sends in his protégé to take the heat."

Neal's almost sawed through one twine of rope with the razor in his cuff. They have no idea who he is so they used whatever they could find to tie him up. Amateurs. 

"Looks like he screwed you over, too, Pal."

Another hit to the side of Neal's head and he's disoriented. Gray Jacket doesn't join the lop-sided boxing match but he doesn't look interested in helping Neal either. Neal's almost through the rope....

"Here... " Lowery places Neal's hat back on his head with a couple of hard taps, which probably looks ridiculous that far down. "Just tell me where to find Mozzie and I'll let you go to whatever party you were wearing this thing to."

The shrill of a siren breaks through the air and Lowery turns toward the front of the building, Gray Jacket running to look out the windows. The rope pulls free, the back falling to the floor, and Neal's body springs forward, rope still catching on his lapels. He pivots out of the chair, trying to cast the ropes off, when Lowery turns back.

Lowery pulls the knife from his belt while Neal backs up, dragging the ropes across the floor as the man follows him. In his periphery he sees Gray Jacket slipping out a side window. Neal ducks when Lowery lashes out with the knife but not far enough. A sharp pain rips across his head, his hat flying. He thinks he hears someone call out his name. As he goes down, he yanks the rope from under Lowery, tangling his legs and sending him to the floor. Neal staggers up, grabs his hat and sprints for the back entrance.

He hears a clamor of yelling as he shoves through the metal door and races through snowflakes falling softly from above. Down the sidewalk and across the street, tires screeching at him, horns and voices scolding. The Christmas lights in the windows blur as he tears past restaurants and bars and bookstores and galleries. His legs burn over another street, skidding on the snow collecting on the pavement as he changes direction and slips into the park. There's a line of blood running into his eye and the snow is collecting on his lashes and his head is throbbing; but all he can think is to get away. 

Path after path, people gasping and diving out of his way. Too many of them. He veers off through the grass, through the skeleton forest, past the pond, through more bare trees and he trips, his forearms absorbing the slam into the ground and grinding his journey to a halt. 

Another path lies right in front of him, with benches and lights. A shiver runs through him and he feels the sweat pouring down his back. He pulls off his overcoat, dumps it on the bench with his hat. He has to get out of here, it's too open and they'll find him. He doesn't even remember who they are but he's losing the fight. He can't run anymore. 

So he climbs. He hooks a foot into a knot on the nearest tree and climbs. He pulls himself up, one yard at a time, higher and higher, away from the bench and the path and civilization. He finds a large wide branch and he stops, resting his back against the trunk, swiping the trickling blood away from his eyes. 

The moon shines through the branches, and Neal sucks in a breath at the beauty of the skyline. The air is crisp and clear and the broad glow of illumination near the streets gradually fades toward the top of the buildings where dark geometry is sparsely dotted with the occasional beacons of people working past hours. White lights twinkle all over the city and the park, blending with the shimmering stars above. It's beautiful. Neal decides he needs to paint it.

~~~

"Jones, he's in the park, now. Heading north."

"On it."

"Diana, you have Lowery?"

"We have them both, Boss. But Lowery's knife had blood on it."

"Damn it," he hears Jones growl breathlessly through his headset. 

Peter's trying not to think of Neal's probable injuries now, can't afford to. He stops for a second, checks his phone.

"He's off the path now."

"Still heading north?"

"Northeast."

Peter darts over the grass beside the sidewalks, trying to keep off of the slippery pavement that'll either slow him down or send him flying. Trying to see Neal's map while running is next to impossible, so he has to keep stopping to get his bearings. Neal has a five block head start and he's normally much faster than Peter. 

He stops to check again. "Heading east now."

"Got it." Jones doesn't seem to be panting as much as Peter is.

Neal's dot has stopped, and Peter's heart skips a beat. "Jones, East Side, south of the Met."

Peter slows a bit, follows the flashing dot on his screen. This part of the park is deserted. Why didn't he go toward people? _Because he's Neal._

He's standing right on the anklet's dot now, a freaking path with benches and trash cans just like every other path in the park. But no Neal.

"Neal!"

No answer, of course. But he sees something dark on one of the benches and he shines his phone's flashlight on it. Neal's coat and hat. There's a slash through his hat. 

"Neal!"

"Anything Peter?"

"I've found his coat and hat. Not him."

"Did he cut his anklet?"

Peter doesn't think so.

"Neal!"

"Pet'r?" 

Peter looks up. Neal's in a tree. Sitting on a branch in a God damned tree. Peter sucks in a huge breath just to blow it out. Finally.

"Neal, what are you doing up there?"

"Dunno."

"Are you hurt?"

"M'be?"

He's about fifteen feet up so not too bad, but if he falls...

"Neal, can you try to climb down?"

"Yeah." Okay, hopefully he can- "Jus need t' grab my brushes."

Brushes? What the hell? "No, leave them."

"Can't. 'Spensive."

"Neal. Leave them." Peter puts the full force of his voice behind it. The one Neal always heeds.

"No."

"I'll buy you more later." 

Neal's still not moving. "Wh't 'bout my paints?"

"Neal I'll buy you all the art supplies you could ever want if you'll just get down here." Peter waits. And waits. And-

"Kay. Y' promised."

Peter shakes his head. "Jones, I have him. Need a bus. Still East Side, south of the Met."

"I'll bring them to you, Peter."

"Thanks."

"Wh't?"

"Nothing, just climb down from there."

Neal has turned his body around, his hand loosely around the trunk as his foot carelessly reaches for the next branch down.

"Take your time, Neal. Be careful."

"Kay." 

But he's not. His movements are sluggish and it's not from him trying to go slow. He gets one foot after another onto a lower branch and then skids a few inches before he grabs hold of the tree. Then he sways a moment, looking down to adjust his progress, just to start the process again. How anyone can feel so comfortable on icy branches above a sidewalk is beyond Peter, but Neal quickly descends, only scraping himself up three times.

When he gets to the bottom Peter plans to lie him flat on the ground but Neal staggers to the bench and crashes, elbow across the back of the bench, head resting on his arm. Blood is dripping from his head somewhere and Peter runs his hand over Neal's scalp.

"Hey!" It's a weak protest. Neal's adrenaline is fading.

"Hold still." Neal jerks away when Peter finds it, a gash in his hairline.

Peter hears the sirens but it'll take Jones a while to find them. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and "Trust me, Neal" spills from his lips. He pulls Neal's head to rest against his belly while he presses his handkerchief to the gash on Neal's head. Neal's tension eventually subsides and his weight grows heavy against Peter's side. 

~~~

"I cannot believe you got away with such minimal hair loss." Diana smirks, shaking her head.

The surgeon had apparently shaved the thinnest sliver around the gash so that the rest of Neal's hair will cover it. He knows he could find a way to rock baldness, but he's glad he doesn't have to.

"I can't believe he climbed a tree."

"Hey I can't be held responsible for what happens when I'm bleeding all over Central Park." 

Jones nods back in concession. "Peter said you were out of it for a while there."

"So, am I really grounded for a month?"

"Oh it'll be much longer than a month."

"Peter."

"Neal you know better than to go after these people on your own."

"I was just collecting intel for you. We had no idea Lowery was dangerous."

"After the next four months of no field work, next time, you'll ask permission first."

"Four months. Peter, that's excessive. How about we make it one month no field work and one week in the van?"

"Neal, my people don't negotiate their punishments. But since you mentioned the van..."

"Maybe if you were more- "

"Neal, did you hear about Mozzie's heroics?" _Not very subtle, Jones._

"What? No."

"You were in such a rush to get out that door, I'm not surprised."

Neal eyes Diana, "You would have been, too."

"We were just outside the door, breaking in. Lowery was chasing after you. Mozzie dropped a sack of grain on him from above. Laid him flat out."

Neal smiles. Moz hadn't told him when he stopped by last night after visiting hours. "Moz is the most resourceful man I know."

Peter nods in what could either be agreement or letting an injured man have the last word. "That's an understatement since he scrambled out of there somehow before we could nab him."

"He was helping disable kids, Peter." Luckily, after June found out about what happened, she offered to sponsor the new supplies for Paula's after school program.

"I know. We talked to Paula."

"Does she know Mozzie was a con?"

" _Was?_ "

"I've rubbed off on him; a little."

"Not enough, I'm sure."

It's warm in the room, surrounded by friends. Jones is leaving for Colorado in two hours. Diana's going to D.C. And Peter and Elizabeth...

"Peter, shouldn't you be on your way up state?"

"Change of plans. We'll go up there after the new year."

"Why?"

Peter shrugs. "You'll get out of the hospital Christmas Eve. Thought you might like to spend a few days with El and me, especially with that concussion."

"Peter, you don't ha- "

"I want to Neal. You should know that by now."

"Yeah. Thanks." He plasters on his best innocent smile, "Presents?"

"There may be some."

"Don't forget you promised new brushes."

"You remember that?"

"Of course. And paints."

"You didn't actually lose any of that to begin with, Neal."

"You don't know that."

"I most certainly do."

"Did you climb the tree to make sure?"

Peter sighs, sends Neal that look that says Neal is a thorn in his side, but he's _Peter's_ thorn. "New brushes and paints it is." 

"Thank you, Peter."

"Welcome back, Neal."

-fin-


End file.
